A Lesson In Life
by musicmuse04
Summary: “Nothing about money is sarcastic. Not when you’re out there peddlin’ a penny a pape and buyin’ a hundred of ‘em for your hard earned sixty cents.” Through chance meetings, Racetrack and Maggie teach one another life's lessons.
1. Chapter 1: A Lot to Learn

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, nor do I own any of the characters featured in this. The only ones I take responsibility for are Maggie & Beth.

an: My first Newsies, fanfic, I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter One: A Lot To Learn**

It started out as a normal day at Miss Dobbson's School For The Education of Ladies. If you want to get technical with names, that is. If not, the girls just called it Dobbson's. It was said that she had been quite an independent and educated lady. Not only was she taught in the ways of ladies, but she was educated in the ways of the world including the higher subjects. She had been quite fond of politics, or so the girls we were told. Not that I was in any way opinionated in politics or anything to do with the matter. I knew Teddy Roosevelt was our mayor, and...that just about sums it up. I knew some other prominent names like Pulitzer and Hearst, but other than that, I was painfully not interested in things along those lines.

My friends and I were more interested in things closer to us, like our hearts, love, and the things that made everyday tick like a clock: boys. Being sixteen, I wasn't quite old enough to be ready to be married, even though I thought about it all the time. In my head it was just a fantasy. Of course I wouldn't be doing any cleaning or cooking, that was what we would have housekeepers for.

But right, back to my normal day. Or as normal as the morning could be. Early on, we took French, then some algebra. After that, it was literature. Then, we had our social classes. Social meaning we were taught how to be a perfect hostess, or host a perfect night of entertainment. We had been taught how to sit and think and act from day one, when we arrived at the school at age eleven. But on this particular day, it was different. Not from all the rest, because we had quite a few afternoons to ourselves, but because this day we dared to do something we'd never done before.

"I suggest we catch a ride out to Sheepshead Bay and see a race." That would be Elizabeth Bennet, or Beth, my best friend in the entire world. From the first day at Dobbson's, Beth and I were fast friends, clinging to one another and giggling when we did something wrong unintentionally. When I had been in the third year and had gotten in trouble for dipping Christy's braids into a pot of ink, Beth had been sitting outside the classroom as I was getting scolded. She hugged me and reassured me that I would never get caught out again. And I didn't. Since then, Beth and I had done many a disastrous thing. We were the trouble makers of our bunch, both of us being leaders, but she with the most wild of ideas.

"Really, Beth, how are we going to get there?" Anna questioned, adjusting her bonnet in the sunlight.

"I know someone who would be willing to give us a ride out there and back, and he's sitting right around the corner," Beth smiled slyly, winking my way. John would be sitting there. John was her father's store helper, the one who would be inheriting his store from him when he was ready to retire. Beth's father owned many stores in and around the area, but out of all the helpers, John was her favorite. It was pretty much already arranged for them to marry as soon as she was done with her schooling.

It was a hot and sunny day, sticky, and with the lack of chaperones, the five of us took the opportunity to let our bonnets hang and let ourselves go a little to have a bit of fun. Upon arrival, we decided we were all only betting on one race, to save ourselves our allowance in case we lost.

I put five on a horse called Dreamer, who ran the fourth race. She was gorgeous, all shiny black with white from just above her hooves down. She should have been called Magic, I suppose, but Dreamer fit her just fine.

Anne bet on the second race, which was when our fun began. Her horse was called Chance, and he took out the rest of them so quick there wasn't a challenge in the bet at all. Our whole group was whooping and hollering, very un-lady-like, but there was no one around to tell us otherwise. A boy off to the side of us was hollering and throwing his navy cap in the air. He must have bet Chance as well, we figured. Anne went to collect her winnings, and we all settled in for Caitlyn's bet.

"Maggie, don't look now, don't turn...I said don't turn, but that boy over there is looking your way," Beth whispered in my ear. What was I supposed to do but turn and make sure her observation wasn't wrong?

She was right. But there were five of us over this way, which I pointed out. "Yes, but he keeps looking at i you /I ."

I didn't pay attention to her ramblings, and was quite shocked when Caitlyn's horse didn't pull through, but fell five behind.

My race was up next, with Dreamer. Inside, I was trembling. If I lost this, I'd wasted half my allowance for the week. But at the same time, I was calm. This was my race. I had it in the bag. I could feel the win as Dreamer sprinted easily toward the finish line. It was a perfect bet for my first race. It was the best thrill I'd had since swiping cookies from the kitchen, which the cook knew about but didn't tell, so that didn't really count.

I stood up and went to the booky's box to collect my winnings. I noticed the boy throwing his cap to the dusty ground. He'd obviously lost on his horse. "Never bettin' on Lucky again," I heard him mutter to himself before sticking a cigar in his mouth.

I returned to the group with a roll of my eyes as Beth pointed out that the boy had been watching me since I'd passed him. Somehow, I was pressured into betting on another race, as I had enough for allowance for two weeks still.

When I got to the box, the boy was leaning against the wall, studying his cigar. "I'd put my money on Fletch if I was you," he said pointedly to me.

"And what makes me think I should listen to you?" I wondered. I wasn't in the habit of taking blind advice.

"Well, see, I'm pretty good at this kinda stuff." Right. If he wasn't full of himself.

"It didn't look like you were very good with the fourth," I replied. "That hat must have taken quite a beating."

"So I had a bad tip on the fourth. What's it to ya?"

"Why should I bet on Fletch?" I asked.

"I've never lost with Fletch," he said with a grin and walked away.

"We'll see," I muttered to myself, placing my bet then taking my seat.

I sure hoped he was right. If he wasn't, I'm sure I could have squashed him with my bare hands even though I'd had no formal lessons. I looked over at the boy; he didn't look too confident. Maybe it was just the way he looked all the time. He had thick brown hair when it wasn't hidden under his cap, and expressive brown eyes that matched. It must have been hard for him to play poker or shoot craps, I decided. Boys were devious, so there was no reason I should have trusted him. But then there were others you could trust, like your father, mine whom I hadn't seen in months. So maybe that wasn't the best comparison.

"So what did the boy say?" Beth wondered as the horses were getting ready. Fletch was a flighty looking stallion; I never would have chosen him on my own.

"He told me to put my money on Fletch," I said, a little more than addicted to my race. My heart was beating bullets inside my chest. A permanent tattoo that would probably last me a high of the next week if the boy was right.

"Tell me you didn't!" Elizabeth screeched.

"So what if I did? It's my money, my race." The boy cracked his knuckles and wrung his cap in his hands. If he was confident inside, he didn't show it.

The shot went off and the horses careened down the fairway, Fletch not quite in the lead, but close. He was coming second. "Come on baby, come on! Move your legs!" I heard the boy shout. I was shouting right along with him at this point. In the last second, Fletch moved forward and passed the horse in the lead by a nose. "A friggin' nose," I heard him say to himself in triumph.

I turned and grabbed Beth to me, hugging her tightly and jumping up and down. We were the happiest people at the track that day, even if for no reason.

So he was right. He wasn't a dirty rotten liar after all.

"I see you bet well. Looks like ya took my advice and bet on my horse." I turned from the collection box and faced the boy with the cigar again.

"I don't normally take advice from strangers, but for you, I made an exception." I hoped it was a breezy voice, one that was indifferent, but flirty at the same time. I think it worked.

"Good thing or you'd'a been outta a lotta money."

I stepped aside to let him get his earnings. "There's enough where it comes from," was my reply as I tucked the money envelope into my purse. The boy turned and put his cigar back in his mouth and shut up, finally stepping to the box. "No, I didn't mean it like that, I meant...I don't know what I meant..."

"What you meant is that this game is just fun to the likesa you, but for someone like me, I shouldn't be wastin' my hard earned money."

"No, that's not it."

"Really? Because if it isn't, then what is it?"

"It was supposed to be sarcastic?" I offered. It was all I had.

We had stepped aside to let other people speak to the booky, which was probably a good thing, because I could feel his fuse starting to light. "Nothing about money is sarcastic. Not when you're out there peddlin' a penny a pape and buyin' a hundred of 'em for your hard earned sixty cents."

It seems that unlike Miss Dobbson, I had a lot to learn about the world. I don't remember quite how long I rambled on. About what I don't remember either, but I know I wasn't making a whole lot of sense, to myself even, when he interrupted me and stuck out his hand. "My name's Racetrack. Racetrack Higgins."

I don't think there had ever been a look on my face as shocked as the one I gave the boy. His name was i what /I ? "Your name is Racetrack?" I shrieked.

"No, not really. It's Anthony, but everyone calls me Racetrack or Race...It's a nickname...ya got a problem with that?"

"No. No! Race is a...good...name. I mean, especially because you're...here. Uhm, My name is Maggie. Maggie Harper." I finally stuck my hand out to shake the one he'd extended earlier.

"Nice to meet ya, Maggie. You stickin' around for a while? I have a buddy who has a great box. You can see the whole track and beyond from there. You and your friends could come and check it out..."

And this is where I chickened out. "Uhm, actually, we have to be getting back home. See, the headmistress gets a tad angry when we don't get back on time, and we probably are going to want to wash up before we go for dinner anyway..." And then I saved it. "...But I would love to check out that box sometime, maybe tomorrow? Or...whenever?"

Racetrack smiled. "Tomorrow works for me. I'll see ya around two. Right here in this same spot."

I smiled and returned to the box where Emma had just won the last race of the day. Soon after, we were on our way back to the bricks and bars of the boarding school that was supposed to teach us about the ways of the world. Funny enough, I'd learned more on that one day out that I'd learned in my nearly five years at that school.


	2. Chapter 2: A Good Race

Thanks for midnight1899 for the first review. This one's for you, honey!

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**Chapter Two: A Good Race**

"Maggie, you _can't_ go back there again!" Beth shrieked when we were alone in our room together that night. "It was a one time thing. Just a little bit of fun before we all go home for the summer."

I sat at my bureau and combed my hair thoroughly before twisting it into a braid and answering my best friend. "I'm not going back to Sheepshead Bay to bet on races. That's the last thing on my mind. I would be going to see Racetrack again."

"Wow, he sure got under your skin fast, didn't he?"

"Probably too quick. I'm bound to get caught. Do you think John would take me out there anyway? I'm sure I can find my own way back."

"Oh dear, Maggie." Beth collapsed onto her bed. "What are you going to do without me this summer?"

"The question is: what are you going to be up to while I'm wallowing away in some dreadfully rainy part of England?"

She giggles, and I knew we had an agreement, so long as I was on time for dinner. The one sidekick I had in life and she wasn't going to be able to kick it with me on this one. I felt kind of bad, but at the same time, I still didn't even know if I was going to go. I wanted to, that's for sure. For a newsboy, he sure had a lot of personality, spunk, whatever. Some part of me yearned to know what life was like on the other side, away from all of the endless parties, dinner outings, tireless, boring conversations. Sure, fabrics and entertainment were my points of interest, but surely there was some counterpart to all of this?

When I arrived at the track, I was nervous. I really shouldn't have been there by myself with no one to chaperone. But I did what I did and I was going to eventually pay the consequences, no matter what they may be. And, I guessed, he would be as well if he was found out. I was alone in a large sea of people. People that I didn't -wouldn't- recognize from the day before. I kept my bonnet on this time. If people saw me, at least they wouldn't totally see my face. I can't say it's an easy one to forget, if I must say so myself. With a slight color difference, my eyes were hard to forget, so I've been told. Blue, at times, but when I get upset or angry, like water boiling on the surface, one changes slightly with hints of green. Not that I've ever been able to tell, of course. My hair was the natural color of my father's, though I would have preferred my mother's sunny blonde. Instead I was birthed with bright baby blonde hair that later darkened with age.

I spied my reflection in a nearby piece of glass to a booky's office and bent slightly to take it all in. I was looking pale. Probably due to lack of sleep the night before. My cheeks were colorless as well, so I pinched them slightly to give them a rosy hue.

I saw Racetrack saunter up behind me smoothly and I straightened. "Doesn't that hurt? I mean, pinchin' ya'self?"

"It makes them pink, gives them color," I explained, none too convincingly.

"Right. Obviously. But why do ya do it in the first place if it hurts? What's the point?"

"Well, when you don't have any cosmetics on hand and you're looking a little pale..." Why was I talking to a boy about cosmetics?

"You don't need cosmetics or face-pinching to look good. Trust me on that if ya never trust me on a horse again." His cigar went to his mouth and in an unexpected gesture, he took my wrist, just above the line of the glove. "Come on, let's go have a view."

Alright, so I wasn't just a little nervous. I was a LOT nervous. He was a newsie, and he either a) liked to gamble or b) just loved the racetrack. I couldn't tell which one, but I was betting on the first. He let me pick out his first horse. I always chose by name so I chose Rascal. And lost. I felt awful about it, especially because he had probably spent a whole day making that dollar, but he didn't seem to care in the slightest.

I started asking him questions. How'd he get the name "Racetrack" and about being a newsie. I found out that they had just passed a rule or something that if a newsie didn't sell what they had bought they newspaper company would buy them back. Which was a lot better than it had been before when they had to just give it up and "eat" what they didn't sell. He didn't mean eat literally, it was just an expression, Racetrack said when I made a disgusted face. Before, they had to buck up and give into the loss. The new way was a lot better, but they price still hadn't gone down. He wondered once if he was boring me, but he wasn't. I was quite fascinated.

Somewhere along the way back to the school, we stopped for a soda. I figured Race knew where he was headed, because he walked straight to a booth with two boys about his age, and one who looked to be about seven. "Heya, Jack, David. This here is Maggie. I kinda...uh...showed her the ropes on horse racing this afternoon."

"Hello," I waved before sitting down next to Racetrack in the stuffy booth. "_I've never been in one of these,_" I thought to myself.

"Hey. This is Les." The one called Jack pointed to the young boy who was steadily shoveling food into his mouth. I slid my bonnet off my head as Race ordered us each a cola, and Jack started talking again. "Racetrack says to me the other night that the races were the best they've ever been. I can only assume he was talkin' 'bout meetin' you."

"If that's what you calla good race..." I trailed off. I didn't like where he was going with this conversation, if it could be called one at all. David looked back and forth from me, to Race, to Jack, then back again, in little rounds, his eyes darting back and forth.

Les looked up from his food long enough to pipe, "I would!" then drink some water.

Race was smiling. "Me too, kid." Forget about cheek-pinching at that moment. I didn't need it, because all of a sudden my face felt hot.

"So, uh. Maggie. What's your address?" Definitely a one sided conversation. And David was smiling, like he knew what was coming. I'd never been asked that before in my life.

"Cowboy!" Those dark eyes of Race's glittered with a fuse, the words coming out of his mouth accusing. I finally noticed that it was uncharacteristic of Racetrack, or what I knew of him anyway, to be sitting silent. But he was.

But I wasn't about to let Jack win. "Why?" I asked.

"I'm in the habit'a knowin' these kindsa things."

"I live on the Upper East Side, if that's what you want to know." Jack's eyes nearly shot out of his head like bullets, and I stood from the tiny booth. "I should be going."

"But you haven't..."

I didn't wait for the rest of his exception as I tied the ribbon on my hat and turned to him smartly. "I shouldn't be here. I know it, you know it. Don't pretend you don't. When I get found out, I'm going to have a lot to pay for. Goodbye, Racetrack."

I left the restaurant, silently wishing I had a chaperone at that moment.

* * *

"Jesus, Race! Upper Eat Manhattan! What're you, dumb?" I suppose I deserved that slap to the side my head. "You're delusional, Racetrack, bringin' her here without an adult! An' do ya really think she'd give ya the time'a day if she hadn't been at the track yesterday?"

I lit a cigarette and inhaled sharply, letting the smoke burn my lungs. I'd made a mistake in taking her to the restaurant. Hell, I'd made a mistake in seeing her again today period. Jack was right. Who was I kidding. Maggie Harper and Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins? Nah. I imagined her father to be a Pulitzer of whatever company he ran, if that was indeed the case. Why else would she be dressed like that? Unless she was lyin' to me, which could very well have happened. But she wouldn't have done that, would she? How should I know. I barely even knew the girl.

Exhaling, I turned to him. "Yeah, I was wrong, I admit. But you know how it is when you look over and see someone who's perfect? Remember when you met Sarah? How crazy you were about her even though ya only knew she was The Mouth's sista? Well, you'll be happy ta know I don't know a thing about Maggie. She did all the question askin'."

Jack sighed and clapped me on the shoulder. We started walking back to the lodging house, an unspoken agreement to call it an early night. "Ya know, Race, I just worry aboutcha sometimes."


	3. Chapter 3: Future

Sorry about the delay, guys! I was having a bit of writer's block and I got busy with school & work, then was writing snippets down on pieces of paper from everywhere and had to collect them all again! I hope you like!

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**Chapter Three: Future**

"Look at 'dis! 'Butchershop closes after rumors'a human body sales.' That's disgustin'! I don't think I'll be making that one up!" I murmured to myself as I sat on the steps of the distribution center. I was flipping through the headlines like any other day, trying to figure out the best way to go about the selling day. As I did this, my mind counted how fast the sales may go, meaning a possible early start to the races. If I went today, that is. I had every intention of going. I just didn't know how or when I would get there. I chewed on the end of my cigar while my mind ticked, lost in my own little process, eyes scanning the headlines, rating them, while my mind was re-wording them to attract the buyer. I was a natural Pulitzer at this headline thing. They should hire me just to make up the headlines. I'd sell 'em. I loved the thrill of it all, the gamble I took when I shouted a blatant lie. That's what made being a newsie fun, made it worthwhile. I could be sitting in a gutter somewhere begging, I decided with a final snap of my paper. That was definitely NOT in the plan.

"Hey Race," little Les greeted, plopping down next to me.

"Heya kid. How's it rollin'?" Les just shrugged, copying my body language. I really shouldn't be a role model for this kid.

I smirked and tipped my cap to Dave when he sat down next to his younger brother. "Hey Mouth."

Davey grimaced. He was the only one who hated his nickname. Oh well. Beggars can't be choosers. "How're the headlines today?"

"Again with the headlines, Davey?" Cowboy took a spot next to Mouth with his usual one hundred papers. He was the only one who ever insisted on calling Mouth by his real name.

"So Jack, how'd you sleep?" This was normally Mush's question, but I hadn't been around to hear it this morning. It was ritual, and I needed it at this point. David noticed the awkwardness of the question, I saw, but he didn't say anything.

"Probably better than you, Race, what with youse tossin' and turnin' all night long. What was the matter with you?" Jack answered, not bothering to look up from 'perusin' the merchandise.'

"Couldn't sleep's'all," I muttered, pretending to be more interested in my cigar, turning it over and over in my hands. The truth of the matter was I couldn't keep the lid on my brain closed. It was like open door free betting inside my head all night long, complete with a rigged deck.

"Hey Jack! Guess where we went last night!" The shadow squeaked from my side, gathering Jack's full attention. So much for pretending.

Jack folded his paper into his lap. "Where's you go, Les?"

I'd have expected Les to say Irving Hall, or something like that, considering Mouth had recently taken fancy to one of the girls there. But I wasn't expecting what came out of the little pipsqueak's mouth, and wouldn't have believed it unless I was sitting right there...which I happened to be. "An all girl's school. Remember the girl Race brought to the–"

Leave it to Walkin' Mouth to not let his brother finish his thoughts. "I _just_ wanted to make sure she wasn't lying about where she was from."

"And?" If looks could kill, mine would have shot him from here to doomsday. I know Maggie wasn't lying. I recognized the scared way she'd look at me when I was talking to her and someone passed by us.

"Unfortunately for you, she wasn't."

"It's none a'ya business where she comes from an' doesn't. Don't go meddlin' into things you know nothin' about, Davey," I spat. I'd had enough. Grabbing my fifty papes and hefting them onto my shoulder I strolled angrily out of the Distribution center.

But...where to go? Under any other circumstances, I'd go toward Upper East Manhattan. Today was a little different. But I couldn't abandon my selling spots. I had regulars; not many, but enough to get me by.

I deemed it business as usual when my feet took off toward Park Avenue. I wouldn't go to the avenue itself, but there was a block or two of businesses and I could make some good money there. And then after noon distribution, I'd head over to the Bay.

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It was a hard selling day. It was hot, humid, and downright ugly outside. By one thirty, I had ten papers left from afternoon distribution. I slumped against a building and took a drag of my last cigarette. I'd had just about enough of Walkin' Mouth. If I didn't see him again for the rest of the week, it wouldn't be long enough. It wasn't just my business he was getting into this time, which ticked me off. My mind wouldn't stop reeling with the scene at the Center this morning, and how casually he'd passed it all off. Why wasn't it casual with me? Normally, I was an easygoing person, what happened, happened. Why was I taking this one to heart? 

Exhaling, I looked up and saw a group of girls being led into one of the shops by an older male teacher. They looked familiar...in fact...

I would regret throwing away a perfectly good cigarette later, I reckoned, but that didn't stop my from following. The teacher was talking wildly about something, but the girls weren't paying the slightest bit of attention. Yes, it was her and her group of squirrelly friends. I shouldn't have done it, and I don't know why I even did, but because her back was turned to me, I reached out an tugged on one of her braids. She jumped, turned, and gasped simultaneously in one movement. "Racetrack!" She hiss-whispered.

"Heya, Maggie. Beth," I whispered politely, tipping my cap.

"What are you doing here?"

"I...uh...actually...am not really aware of that fact at the moment."

"Well that's unusual," Beth remarked, turning back to the teacher who droned on... "You young ladies need not worry about your future..."

"You...shouldn't be here." Maggie hadn't turned back around to the lesson.

"But I am. So..." Now was my only chance. "What are you doing later?"

"Race..." And I blew it. So I opted for a compliment instead.

"You know, you look very beautiful today, Miss Harper." To which she blushed, smiled, and winked. Best choice of the day.

Following the best decision of the day, however, meant allowing that one unfortunate mistake of getting caught at cheating the game. "Miss Harper, do you care to introduce us to your friend?"

Busted. Maggie's face went paler than I thought it could ever get, but she still managed to keep her calm. I'm sure my face gave me away though. I knew I wasn't going to be able to keep up with the outrageous story she was concocting. I apparently have no poker face. I'm still perfecting that. "Actually, Mr. Long, I'm purchasing a newspaper from this young man. You yourself said that we need not worry about _our_ future, but what about the future of _others_?" Man, she played this game well. Almost _too_ well.

She found a nickel, and placed it in my hand. This wasn't how I wanted this meeting to go. Maggie's eyes pleaded with mine to follow the story. Basically it was sell her a pape and keep my mouth shut. I was pretty good at that. With some hesitance, I followed the lie, handing her one of my few remaining papers. "Here you go, Miss. Thank you." I waited a moment, and the teacher went back to droning on about something about economy.

Maggie flipped the paper open, still on display. She looked so natural, one would have thought she was permanently on display. "Any _good_ news?" she inquired.

"Ah...they tend not to print the good news, Miss. It's the appallin' stuff that makes the papes."

"So what should I be interested in?"

"There was another baby born with two heads," I said excitedly, watching Beth giggle behind her hand. I turned to stand next to Maggie and flipped the pages open to the appropriate story. "Not in Brooklyn though. This time it was Midtown. Must be something in the water." I located the article and pointed at it. "Here."

Maggie's eyes skimmed the story, then flicked to me. "Racetrack, that's disgusting!"

I shrugged. "It is what it is. Just pray you don't have a baby with _three_ heads someday." I earned a smile for that.

Maggie stole a glance at her teacher who was still busy teaching, then nudged Beth. "Hey, cover for me. I'll be back before dinner."

"Make that after dinner," I winked to Beth and tipped my hat, following Maggie out the door cautiously. I guess I wasn't going to Sheepshead after all.

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That's it for me for this chapter! I hope you enjoyed! I promised the next one won't take me so long. In fact...I even have a little of it ready for posting... 


	4. Chapter 4: As Luck Would Have It

**Chapter Four: As Luck Would Have It**

Maggie and I were walking down the sidewalk, into the city, into more of the heat. The sun was beating down on us like a reflection of light on the face of a watch. "Let's do something crazy this afternoon," she said, walking away from the store as quickly as possible.

"Ain't that what you was doin' when I saw you at the races?" I questioned her, holding a hand up to shield my eyes from the glare.

"Yes, but something crazier. Something...daring."

"You're not one of them 'votes for women' types, are you?" I took her elbow as I caught up to her and led her in another direction. I wanted to call the shots today. There's just some lucky feeling I had in the pit of my stomach like the feeling I got when I knew I had the best poker hand in the house. Of course, according to Conlon, Spot Conlon, that is, (Leader of Brooklyn, if you must know) even my best poker face wasn't good enough and he could always tell when I had a good hand.

"No, not one of those, but I DO like to have fun. And contrary to popular belief, my idea of fun isn't sitting in a parlor or sun-room drinking tea and eating finger sandwiches, though it IS a nice way to pass the time." I looked over at her again to see her balance-walking on the edge of the sidewalk. She bit her lip in concentration and sprawled her arms out as she nearly mis-stepped. Her arms flailed and she swatted at my chest with her right hand to grab onto something to keep her from falling. "Oh, Racetrack. I'm sorry."

"It's what I'm here for: support." I reached into my pocket, pulled out a pair of dice and started shaking them to keep my hands busy. The sticky heat was getting to me and I wasn't doing so smooth. "So. It's hot...it's humid...it's the middle of the summer and you're all alone. Besides me, of course." Yeah, no, I really wasn't too smooth today.

Maggie looked at me curiously. 'Racetrack, _what_ do you have planned?"

"Nothing. I have nothing at all planned. I'm not a planner by nature, which makes me such a good gambler. I was simply stating the facts."

Maggie turned her head to a vendor selling hot rolls and cringed. "But I do know a nice little spot this side of Manhattan that we could get some ice-cream? I'm buying."

"Right. Racetrack, you probably can't afford it." She didn't explain further, and she didn't need to. I didn't sell all my papes today, and I'd left them sitting in the store.

"Who says I can't? No one calls the shots in my life but me. And I say I can afford to buy a lady some sweets. I may not be able to bet at the track tomorrow, or in a game of poker later, but I can at least do the gentlemanly thing."

Maggie bit her lip and eyed me out of the corner of her eye. She was considering my offer. "So whattaya say, Maggie? You wanna cool down?"

I saw a smile on the corner of her lips and she nodded. "Yes. This heat is unbearable. Let's go." Without bothering to ask directions, she grabbed my hand and started running through the streets. It was almost euphoric, the way we were running. I didn't want to stop, but at the same time, it was hard to breathe. She was smiling though, and that was all that mattered. That and the fact that she was running the opposite direction of the water.

"Wait, Mags! This way!" I planted my feet and swung her around in the opposite direction she had just come. "Wrong way."

* * *

The heat had followed us to the river, even though it was secluded, and nearly full of shade. We'd found a bench to sit on, watching the ducks float lazily in the current. "When I was little, my father used to take me to Central Park and we'd give pieces of bread to the swans and ducks that were in the pond there," Maggie shared, remembering her not too distant past. 

She licked some ice cream that was running down the side of the cone and smirked in my direction. I didn't have quite a story like that, and I wasn't about to humor her with one. "I go to the park to sell newspapers every now and again. It's a nice selling spot, but sometimes I feel bad about interrupting people's afternoons," I replied, giving her something to chew on. I wasn't about to tell her my past. If she wanted to know, she had to earn it, like the rest of the guys.

"Oh come on, Racetrack, don't you have a story about your childhood? Something you remember from when you were little that makes you smile?"

"Maggie, I've been living on the streets for as long as I can remember. But yeah, if you want to know, when we were little Kid Blink and I used to steal hot rolls from this vendor down the street from the lodging house on the way to the Distribution Center. Eventually, the guy caught on and started saving us one apiece each day. We kind of stopped, though, when we got older. I don't know why."

"So you've lived on the streets since..."

"Let's just say I don't remember my parents, okay?"

"Nothing of your past?" She prodded. She wasn't giving up.

"No. Not one thing about it." Which wasn't entirely true, but like I said, she didn't have to know that just yet. She was going to have to tell me something before I gave up something that big.

"Wow. I didn't know there were really kids like that. I mean, sometimes you hear about it, but it's not like...people ever really...come in contact with it everyday."

I snorted as the ball of ice cream on the top of her cone landed on her dress with a plop! Half of the reaction was to that, and the other half was to the comment she made. "Where I come from, it's a common occurrence. Most kids I know don't know their parents or where they came from. Not like you. Not all of them are runaways, Mags."

Her eyes were wide, as if she was shocked I would reply to her comment instead of offer to clean up the now melting sweet in her lap. "I need something...to...clean this up with?"

"I uh...don't have anything?"

"Your vest? Or hat or something?"

"Hey! These are my clothes! Don't you have some sort of handkerchief you keep in your sleeve or purse or something?" By this time, my ice cream was sitting in my hand, forgotten. We were in full on argument mode here, something which was not quite new for us.

"Not in this weather! Do you think I'm stupid? It's hot!"

"So? You're supposed to have it!"

"Well I don't, and you're playing the gentleman here, unless you're lying to me."

"Don't let it sit there in your lap, woman! Pick it up!" I muttered, my anger bubbling to the surface slowly. She was acting as if though this had never happened. Which, it probably never had, I realized on second thought, but pushed the thought to the back of my head.

With a crinkle of her nose, she gingerly picked up the melting ice cream and daintily threw it out into the grass. When she looked over at me, she was laughing. "What?" The anger crease had never left my forehead, and it wasn't about to.

"You have ice cream running down your arm." Using some expletives that should never be uttered in the presence of a woman, I threw the offending cone on the ground and ran to the riverbank to wash up.

It was only after a few moments of being clean when I was shoved into the water. I came up sputtering. "Now what in the heck was that for?" I demanded, crawling out of the muddy water and back onto the shore to lay down in the grass.

"For laughing at me." I smiled as she sat down next to my sopping wet self. The argument was gone, and she had learned at least something. But then again...so had I.

* * *

I don't really consider myself the whistling type, but then again, I don't consider myself a compulsive gambler either, like some people tend to tell me I am. I did, however, find myself whistling some foreign tune as I walked back to the Lodging House. I'd seen Maggie safely into the school – no funny business, thank you – then lit a cigarette I'd pilfered from some louse's pocket, then headed back home. Drunks and whores littered the gutters, moaning about their past and calling out their prices respectively. 

I arrived at the Lodging House safely and found the bunkroom squashed full of boys from Brooklyn and Manhattan. The window was open to the fire escape for the boys that felt the need to smoke, and there were a few whiskey bottles being passed around.

"Race! How'd you forget about the tournament?!" Kid Blink called from one of the bunks. They called him Kid Blink because of the patch over one of his eyes. No one really knew if he was really blind in one eye, or he used it to set himself apart. No one ever saw him without the patch, but no matter, because he was one of the most happy go lucky guys in the room. Besides me, of course.

It was uncharacteristic of me to forget such things, but in my blissed out state, I figured I had every good reason behind me. Well, it was only one, but it was the only excusable one as far as I was concerned. "A girl," was all I said, patting Blink on the back when I joined him across the room.

I looked around me. Mush was explaining something to Skittery (probably something to do with selling and girls somewhere), Boots was playing a game of marbles with little Les, countless other kids were running around the room wreaking havoc on the older boys. Then there were the gamblers. Jack sat staring at his hand, confusion written all across his face. Next to him sat Walkin' Mouth with his trademark furrowed brow, and some other boys from across the bridge.

Then there was Spot. Like I said earlier, Spot Conlon, leader of the Brooklyn newsies, fearless gambler. Poker face like a pro. It was so blank, there was nothing behind that stare I could read. Except for when I walked in late. It was a disproving look, like a father would give his son. In a way, he was protective of all of us, not just his own borough. He was like God to some of them. To me, he was just a guy my age who had one hell of a lot going for him. Hell, the girls fawned all over him. Not to say I didn't get my fair share, but I sure as hell didn't have as many as Spot. And neither did Jack Kelly for that matter, either.

"You in the next round, Higgins?" Spot called without looking up from his hand.

"Sure thing." I took a swig of whiskey for liquid courage (you'd need it against Conlon too) and stepped outside to have another quick cigarette before they dealt.

The game started off fervently. We were all betting money here, we were all betting real wages. Things we'd hawked headlines for all day, all week even, to be sitting here tonight wasting it on a lousy hand of poker. It seemed, though, that I'd left all my luck on Maggie's doorstep. Couple that with a poor poker face and a few bad hands and I was down to all I had to get me papes tomorrow morning. "I'm out guys," I surrendered after five hands.

"One more hand, Higgins," Conlon suggested, his trademark smirk his best friend at the moment, his eyes a cold hard steel blue. Yep, his poker face. Or one of the many variations. "Why don't you boys sit this one out and let Race and I play this one. No money, but a bet between us."

"And what could you possible have that I want?" I asked, nearly getting up to leave. I stole a look at Jack, though, who chewed on his tongue and warned me not to move. The others at the table scattered as soon as Spot advised.

"It's not what I have, Racetrack. It's who I know."

Intrigued, I shuffled and started to deal the hand, letting Jack know he could leave the table. But he didn't go very far, and came to stand behind me. It wasn't long before the whole crowd of the room was circled around the table, me facing off in a game of poker with the gallant leader. "Name your price, Brooklyn."

"Maggie." White as a sheet for the second time that day, I lifted my hand to peer quickly at my cards. High stakes. He wasn't joking.

"What do you know about her?" A couple of the guys from Manhattan snickered behind their hands. What was going on?

"I know she's got a brother. Who's got a friend who has a _very_ good looking girl. Very, very nice. Anyway, We're wagering a little bet here, Higgins." He smirked again. Cocky bastard.

"Alright, what's the deal, Spot?" I leaned back in my chair. I'd show him how the pros did it.

"I win, you keep ya' grubby paws off'a Maggie. I can get a richie too, right? You win, I stay outta the way, you keep ya' girl."

I had to smile. "Spot, nothing's going on with Maggie and I. And who's to say you can't get a richie? Certainly not me. Hell, you're Spot Conlon. You can get whoever you want, _whenever _you want."

"That's the deal, Higgins. You've already accepted, right fellas?" Brooklyn looked around the room as the entire flock of boys nodded in agreement.

"Alright, I'm a gambler. I like to take a bet. Let's do this." I leaned forward and picked up my hand again. Maybe I should have heard the terms before agreeing.


	5. Chapter 5: Dead Man Walking

**Dead Man Walking**

Damn Spot Conlon and his superior poker face all to hell, I thought as I rolled out of bed. Damn him and his poker game and his stupid bets. An unusually negative air took hold of my day. Add to that the fact that it was a hot sticky rain, unlike the previous day, and I was all around miserable. No newsie likes to get stuck in the rain. Not only does it make for an awful selling day, but normally ink-stained hands turn into ink stained faces and clothes. 

I'd lost everything I had last night (which was another unusual occurrence for me) which meant that even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't forfeit the selling day. A couple of other brave soldiers followed me out of the Lodging House and walked ahead of me rather briskly. I caught a bit of their conversation as they passed, and ran my hand over my mouth. "Didja hear? Conlon won against Race last night an' that gal he was seein'...it's not good for him." "Hey, I wonder if he'll go by her place...It wouldn't be a good idea, I mean, I wouldn't cross Spot if I was him..."

Whispers about the poker game last night brought it all back to me. I'd thought I was doing great, I thought I was a pro. I felt my best poker face coming on, and well...then I wasn't. Spot had won. Which explained my foul mood and my current bashing on Spot Conlon.

Grabbing a measly twenty papers, I hauled them off into the street, burrowing under store awnings for some sort of safety from the rain. It wasn't until I had two papers left and decided tostop for a cigarette when I realized I was sitting in front of Bennet's General Store. I looked inside the store and saw a familiar face giggling with the boy behind the counter. Of course it would be Elizabeth Bennet. Quickly, I sat down on the ground, leaning against the cool building. Not too quickly, perhaps, because the door opened and there she stood, with the guy in tow. "Racetrack Higgins."

How she knew my full name, I will never know. I'm assuming that Maggie told her. I'm doing a lot of guesswork here, but hey, what's a guy to do? "Miss Bennet," I nodded in return, taking a slow, careful drag of my cigarette. I'd wasted too much time rolling it, and didn't want to get rid of it that quickly.

"Maggie's not here," she said pointedly.

"I'm not looking for Maggie today. In fact, I won't be looking for her again. I'm on the job, just taking a quick break. I'll be gone before you know it, so you can step back inside and let me finish smoking. I'll move along as soon as I'm done."

"How many do you have left?" The guy asked. 

"Two's'all," I muttered as the guy dug into his front pockets for some change. He produced a nickel and handed it to me. I finished the transaction, handing him one of the papers. 

I leaned my head back and took another drag, closing my eyes as I did so.

"So why aren't you going to be looking for Maggie anymore? It seems to me that you had quite an adventure yesterday. How was the water?"

I opened my eyes and exhaled the smoke through my nose. Not the most attractive thing to do, but it made me look fierce. "Maggie's a long story, and the water was fine. Nice and warm from the weather."

"A long story, huh? How long can it be? Just yesterday you two were like a pair of doves. All of a sudden you're not having anything to do with her? I'm sorry, but she's my friend and I deserve an explanation." Elizabeth stamped her foot and crossed her arms over her chest. When I didn't say anything, she sighed and grabbed the shoulder of my shirt, hauling me into a standing position. Counter-boy looked at me as if he had no clue what was going on, and was shoved in the door as I was dragged.

"Alright, Higgins, spill. I want to know what's going on. I know Maggie's side of the story, but I've yet to hear yours. Obviously because our paths never cross, but still. The point remains that something is wrong and Maggie knows nothing about it."

I braced my back against the counter that Elizabeth had backed me into upon entering. How could I tell her I bet her best friend against a newsboy from Brooklyn? The borough leader at that! I swallowed around an odd lump that had formed in my throat. Me? Racetrack Higgins, gambler extra ordinaire, afraid of losing a girl to a gamble? You bet. Of course all the odds had been against me. "You're right, Maggie doesn't know anything about what happened last night because I dropped her off at the school before it happened."

"What happened?" Counter-boy questioned. He really wasn't too much older than me, I reasoned. But he'd had respectable parents, and now had a respectable, well paying job to support him and his little Miss Bennet when she was done with school.

"A game. A bet, alright? It was a stupid bet, and that's the end of it!" I'd had enough confrontation for one day, suddenly feeling like I'd been cornered and smothered by accusation. 

For the second time that week, I didn't sell all my papers. Granted, I'd sold more today that I'd done yesterday, but still, the thought remained. I was caught up in Maggie, caught up in a girl I didn't know too well. One that pushed my buttons and made me lose my temper, which wasn't always the best thing to do. Somehow, I'd never managed to stay mad at her for long. Granted, we'd seen each other, what...three times at best? Slowly, I walked through the rain soaked streets, rattling my dice in my hands. I'd bet on a girl. I'd bet on someone. It was something I'd sworn I never would do, something my father had done – and because of it, he was six feet under. I wasn't a gambler by nature. Gambling was in my blood. It was a family curse, one that I would never get rid of. I'd visibly flinched when Spot mentioned her name to me. News travels fast in New York – of course it does when you have little spies in every corner of the city. He'd probably had one sitting in the park yesterday, watching. Not one of my finer moments, I must admit, but one that would be ingrained in my memory for the rest of my life. He'd known it, too, as my poker face faltered. Great odds in Spot's favor. I hadn't _meant_ to bet her. I really hadn't. But the compulsive gambler in me had reared it's ugly head and controlled the rest of my actions. The beads of sweat when he'd raised...the look in his eyes when he'd called. I knew then that I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. I was never getting Maggie back.

* * *

Race looked down stoically at the cards in his hand. Glum and dumb was Skittery's job, not his. 

It was _the_ worst hand in the history of poker, and he had it. One queen, two tens, a two of hearts, and an eight. He was doomed. Why did Spot have to have a superior poker face? Race was sure his was crumbling round the edges. If not, even his eyes would give it away. Quick wit just wasn't enough anymore.

Spot smirked across the table at Race just as Race stole a glance at Jack. Cowboy's eyes were fixed on the cards in the gambler's hand. 

A person could cut the tension in the air with a knife. "Your call, Higgins," Spot leered.

"Uhm..." Race's voice wavered a little and across the table, Jack's eyes opened wide. Race was never _not_ confident while gambling. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. "H-hold."

Spot's poker face nearly fell, but he regained his composure quickly. The gambler across from him _never_ stuttered. Race hoped Spot thought he was trying a new tactic. "Heya Race...I raise ya..." Racetrack gulped visibly. So much for poker face. "Give me two weeks. I'll have her over to Brooklyn faster than you can say 'royal flush.'"

Race looked out the corner of his eye to Walkin' Mouth. For the first time since the boys had met, he was speechless. "I'll see that, Spot."

"Good. Call."

* * *

And that was how I lost the biggest bet of my entire life.

Trading my dice for another cigarette, I stared up at the sky I was about to walk out into. I might be a dead man walking for the rest of my life at this rate, but I sure as hell didn't want to end up in an unmarked grave because of this mistake. One Higgins dead because of a bet was enough, my mother had told me. Surely I wouldn't ever go the same route and turn up like him. That had been my solemn vow as soon as she'd gone. I'd never end up like him. Now here I was, making the same mistake... but...could I rectify it? Or better yet, how? 

Gathering my small amount of pride and coupling it with an pint of bravado, I stepped out under the safety of the awnings of the city and headed out into the street, toward the Brooklyn Bridge.


End file.
